


Dream A Little Dream Of Me

by respoftw



Series: Tumblr Prompts - Hawksilver edition [80]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:03:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/respoftw/pseuds/respoftw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sheets twisted around his legs as Clint struggled to stand.  With a grunted curse he kicked them to the floor, noting that they were damp with the sweat of yet another nightmare.  At least the harried pounding of the front door was good for something; the last thing Clint needed was another night spent wrestling with his demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream A Little Dream Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous Prompt:  
> So what if a few months after the whole Ultron thing went down Clint gets a knock at the door at like 3 in the morning and it's the twins asking if they can crash there for a while. Thinking he's dreaming, Clint tells Wanda to take the spare bedroom and Pietro winds up sleeping in the same bed as Clint. He realizes it isn't a dream when he wakes up to a formerly dead guy making breakfast in the kitchen.

The sheets twisted around his legs as Clint struggled to stand. With a grunted curse he kicked them to the floor, noting that they were damp with the sweat of yet another nightmare. At least the harried pounding of the front door was good for something; the last thing Clint needed was another night spent wrestling with his demons.

Any gratitude he felt sunk like a rock as he opened the front door to see _him_ standing there.

_Pietro_.

A pale, terrified, but wonderfully whole and alive Pietro.

Goddamnit but dreams within dreams really sucked. That was some Freddy Kreuger level of shit right there.

Wanda pushed her way into Clint’s cold, dark flat, waving Lucky’s chew toys out of her way with a flash of red and pulling Pietro in after her.

Clint rolled with it, stepping aside with a wave of the hand. This scenario was new to him. Wanda didn’t usually make an appearance in these dreams; unless she was there to pour all the righteous anger and blame that the real Wanda was far too selfless to ever voice. Still, the dreams where Pietro was alive and unharmed were infinitely better than the ones in which Clint watched him die over and over again, so it could be worse.

(Except Clint knew that he was just kidding himself. As horrible as the dreams of Pietro dying were, that moment on waking up from a dream where Pietro was alive and whole and healthy was infinitely worse.)

“Clint, I’m sorry to barge in like this but I need your help,” Wanda pleaded. "I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what I did but he’s back and he’s alive and he’s here.“ She turned her big green eyes on him, wrenching his gaze away from where it had been pinned on a trembling, silent Pietro. "Can he stay here with you? Please? Just for tonight.”

She seemed surprised at his easy agreement, pulling him aside and asking if he was OK, if the shock had been too much. Clint kissed her temple, fond and familial. "I’m fine,“ he assured her as he pushed her out the door, paying no attention to her token protests. "I like this dream.”

Left alone in his apartment with Pietro normally meant something much more x-rated in Clint’s dreams but there was something so vulnerable about this incarnation of the kid - in the way his arms were wrapped around his own torso like a hug, the way his eyes darted around the room as if trying to take in every little detail.

“Come on, kid,” he sighed. Let’s get you into bed.“ _And then I can wake up and feel like I’ve lost you all over again._

Pietro trailed after Clint, pausing in the doorway to the bedroom as he watched him pull a clean set of sheets from the cupboard and climb under them.

“I - I can take the couch.” They’re the first words dream Pietro had spoken and his voice sounded weak, like he hasn’t spoken for months. It’s a level of detail that impresses Clint almost as much as it stabs him in the heart.

Suddenly bone tired, despite the fact that he’s already asleep, Clint has had enough.

“Just get in the damn bed,” he mutters. "Or don’t. What does it matter to me? It’s all just a dream.“

Clint’s awareness is half gone before he finishes the sentence and the last thing he registers is the dipping of the mattress as a warm, heavy weight settles beside him.

* * *

 

Clint blinks awake with a choked gasp. Every damn time it seemed to hurt more; that fraction of a second when he forgets, when he thinks it’s all real. Maybe he should speak to so- -

"You lied.”

Clint’s thoughts stutter to a stop as a heavily accented voice speaks from his doorway.

“You said that it was a dream. You said that it wasn’t real but I woke up I’m still here.”

Clint turns to find Pietro sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, holding himself together. Haunted blue eyes stare back at him.

“Is this real?” he asks, desperately. “Am I really back?”

Clint trips over the sheets again as he stumbles across the floor to sink down next to Pietro. Grabbing his shoulders and feeling the solid warmth of living flesh under his hands, Clint almost breaks.

“Yeah,” he marvels, laughing in disbelief. "Jesus, kid…yeah. You’re really back. You’re here.“

Pietro shudders in relief, his weight dropping forward to lean on Clint like his strings had been cut, like a weight that was holding him back had been released.

Pietro’s shoulder is digging into his chest and his breath is gusting, dry and morning ripe across Clint’s face, and every single awkward, human, imperfect second of the worlds worst hug is the best thing that’s happened to Clint in months.

This isn’t a dream.

This is real.

This is - -


End file.
